Dinner for Three
by SylvieT
Summary: Following on from Man's Best Friend, this is the promised first meal at Grissom's place. It's light and fun and takes place some time near the start of season 6. GSR, and Hank.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Following on from _Man's Best Friend_, this is the promised first meal at Grissom's place. Well, it kind of starts the night before, and I've decided to split my oneshot up into chapters again. Three, I think. No doubt your comments and suggestions will trigger ideas I didn't have in the first place, making this story even better. They normally do. So please, keep them coming. ;-)

And remember this is meant to be fun and lighthearted and, dare I write it, fluffy. I hope you enjoy. Have a nice weekend!

* * *

Dinner for Three

* * *

Even though Grissom was tired and achy, sleep didn't come easily for him that night. He was too buoyed up, too excited – mentally and emotionally, but also physically. His body was restless, tingling with unspent energy. If he could be bothered, he would go ride a coaster or play cards. But as it stood, he lay in the dim light with a smile on his face and not a stitch on, his mind filled with images of Sara, their day out in the desert and their burgeoning romance.

His pulse quickened, his heart swelling with emotion at the mere thought of the word – romance. Sara had asked him if they were dating, and he'd said yes because strictly speaking they were, but in his mind, it was more than just that. In his mind, they were romantically involved, irrevocably entwined. Dating just…didn't cut it. Dating implied two people trying out a relationship and exploring whether they were compatible by going out together in public as a couple, which they were doing – albeit covertly.

But he didn't need to try out anything with Sara, he already knew they were compatible, had unconsciously known for years. Why else deny himself a relationship with her in the first place? The lab rules? Maybe, but they could have circumvented the rules, just as they were doing now. No. Fear had made him back off and keep away; fear to be emotionally dependent on someone else, fear to bare oneself and be found lacking.

And yet now he felt differently. He loved the inner sense of freedom that came with not having to hide his feelings for her anymore, with being able to act normally around her, naturally – well, at least when they were alone. It was so much easier than having to pretend he didn't care for her so very much. Even now on his own he could think about her freely and not chastise himself for it. He hadn't felt this young, this liberated in a very, very long time.

Every time he closed his eyes, snippets of their date would replay in his head and take him back. Take him back to a state of bliss and fulfilment. He could hear the soft trickling of the water down the rocks into the pool as they shared their picnic, feel the cool breeze of the wind on his face as they walked toward the Wilson Cliffs, her hand in his, on him, her fingers freely threading through his hair, trailing up and down his back, his sides and shoulders, tickling, arousing.

Their eyes would meet at random intervals and they'd smile shy, uncertain smiles, as if they still couldn't quite believe what was happening between them – what was happening to them. He'd tighten his hold on her hand or shoulder and swallow a surge of love so intense he thought his heart might stop. He loved that she had that power over him, that she could render him speechless and lovesick with a look, a touch, a smile.

All his senses were on alert – constantly – and not just when he was around her, even now as he lay in bed. Was that normal, he wondered? He could taste her lips as they returned every one of his licks, sucks and kisses, as they explored places he never thought they would. Her body was so lithe and strong, fitting so perfectly over his, under his, her breasts…his eyes clenched tighter shut, his lips pinched to stifle a moan, and he swallowed, hard, then felt himself tighten and contract, once, twice and then helplessly tip over the edge in a release that had been all day coming.

Shit. His eyes snapped open. Disgusted at his poor performance, at his lack of self-control, he sat up in bed, turned the side lamp on and squinting pulled out a wad of tissues from the box on the bedside table. Shifting restlessly in his basket near the door Hank cast a glance over to him. Grissom cleaned himself and the bed sheet up, discarded the tissues on the bedside table and lay back down on a dry patch before pulling the bed sheet over his sweaty body. Then he folded his arm behind his head on the pillow and let out a long, wistful sigh.

Fifty years old, and over before it even began. Let's hope he did better on the night. That was all he needed, he thought discontentedly, pressure in _that_ department. What if he came up short? Or couldn't keep up? Keep _it_ up? What if it was over in a flash? He gave his head a shake. "You're fine," he mumbled to himself, aiming but failing to sound confident. "Nobody's ever had cause to complain before, quite the opposite. Besides, when she's here in person, in your arms rather than in your head, it'll be different."

Hank threw him another baffled look, then gave a loud yawn, his message clear – time for bed now – and Grissom sighed again before turning onto his side, plumping up his pillow and closing his eyes. What was happening to him? Never before had a woman had such debilitating effect on him. It was exciting but kind of scary too.

"You're going to have to move out, you know," he said, addressing the dog, and reopened his eyes. "Out of the bedroom, I mean." He scratched at his beard. "I can't have you sleep in here when Sara's around. She might not like it. And _we_ can't very well crash at her place, now, can _we_?"

This time Hank lifted his head right up and turned it toward the bed. He was looking indignant. The small yelp of discontent he emitted was reply enough, and Grissom scoffed.

"Better get used to it, pal," he said, the beginning of a smile curling his lip, "Because I intend for her to be over a lot."

He wondered where she was at. He glanced over at the alarm clock on the bedside table and thought she'd be getting ready for shift by now. Was she thinking of him at all? The smile stayed on his face long after he'd reached up his hand to turn the bedside light off and closed his eyes. Sleep had come surprisingly easily after that.

The next day he woke up bright and early and full of spirit and trepidation for the day and date ahead. Quickly, after a trip to the bathroom, he got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and slipped his shoes on, ready to take Hank on their daily morning walk. Hank was already waiting at the door, tail beating, red ball in mouth eager to get going. Grissom's smile was fond, understanding. He reached down and scratched between the dog's ears.

"Sorry, buddy, to have to disappoint you, but you're not going to need it. We're not meeting Sara today. Well, not at the park anyway."

Hank dropped his tail and curled it between his legs, showing his sorrow. Grissom knew exactly how the dog felt.

"But she's coming later," he added brightly, "all right?"

Hank dropped his ball and gave a bark, before picking up the ball again and indicating with a nod of his head toward the door that, Sara or not, he was ready to go. Their walk was brisk, but they did make a quick detour via the park to play ball for a while. They were on their way back when his cell vibrated in his pocket. With a start he pulled it out, his puzzlement morphing into a smile at the name displayed on the screen.

"Hi," he said, sounding surprised as he connected the call, and cleared his throat.

"Hi. You awake?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"I'm, huh, just leaving the lab. I need to do a little grocery shopping on my way home and I was wondering if there was anything I―I could get for tonight."

Grissom slowed down his pace a fraction and reeled Hank back. The happy inflection in her voice had his heart beating double time. "No. I don't think so. No. Just yourself," he said a little uneasily. "I got everything under control." Well, I will have by then, he thought.

"Oh. Okay. I'll see you tonight then."

His face softened at the thought. "I look forward to it."

There was a pause, and Grissom briefly wondered if he'd missed a trick. "Me too," she said quietly, and his smile returned.

"You have a good night, Sara."

"And you a good day. See you tonight."

Grissom let out a breath and pocketed his cell. Without realising he'd stopped walking, and giving his head a shake and Hank a sharp tug he set off again at a brisk pace, his head full of all the things he needed to do so that he indeed had everything under control.

After a quick breakfast and shower, Grissom sat down at his desk, put aside the budget report he needed to review and set about making a list of ingredients for his gourmet menu he'd need to get while at the store, as well as a few other essentials. Then he picked out his outfit from his closet, eventually settling on a navy shirt that would need ironing again, a matching tie and his best jeans. He stared at the tie in his hand for a moment, then sighed, lifted it to his chest and moved to stand in front of the mirror.

"What do you think?" he asked with a glance over his shoulder at Hank lounging on the bed.

Hank didn't even twitch an ear to acknowledge that he'd even heard him, let alone have an opinion on the matter, and with a twist of his lips Grissom refocused on his reflection.

The tie made him look like he was dressed for court, and quickly he put it away but opted to keep the navy shirt – comfortable but smart and more importantly himself. He remembered someone telling him once that the shirt complimented his eyes nicely, or words to that effect, but what did he know about it, or even care? He paused, twisted his mouth in thought, oh, he cared. He cared about it all right.

He hung the shirt on the door knob and turned to the rest of the room. The blinds were swiftly pulled up, the windows opened. Hank was unceremoniously despatched, much to the dog's undisguised annoyance, and the bed stripped and left to air. He'd need to put clean sheets on, then dust and vacuum everywhere, clean the bathroom, the toilet, and change the hand towels. He frowned. Did he have a spare toothbrush in case she needed one? Would she need one? Maybe he could get one when at the store. He moved to his desk and added it to his list.

"What about condoms," he wondered out loud and tapped his pen to his lips. Should he add condoms to his list? "Better be on the safe side," he told Hank hovering at his feet, uneasy and uncertain on account of Grissom's most uncharacteristic ebullience.

But did he need to? He frowned; didn't he have an old pack hanging around somewhere? Quickly, he checked the bedside table and when that came up empty the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. There was a box there, opened, but with more than half of the condoms left. When he checked the use-by date though, he was dismayed to find that the condoms were three years out of date. Three years! He gave his head a shake and tossed the pack in the trash, then thought better of it and swiftly retrieved it. Better not leave it where it could be found.

The rest of the day went by in a flash – doing housework, grocery shopping and cooking, with a little work-related paperwork thrown in for good measure. But it was well worth all the sweat and effort, he thought.

He was putting the finishing touches to the table when the doorbell finally rang. He turned toward the sound with a start, then checked the time on the oven clock. Six pm on the dot; she was on time. A wry smile formed on his lips as he wondered whether she'd waited behind the door for the exact time before ringing the bell. Hank made a dash for the door, and casting a critical eye around the place he smoothed down his shirt, ran his hand through his freshly-washed hair and followed suit.

"You behave yourself, all right?" he told Hank in a whisper as he checked the peephole. It was her, waiting with her back to the door. "No funny business, or I shut you in the bedroom. No, not the bedroom," he retracted quickly, "the bathroom."

Blowing a deep breath, he turned the lock and when he opened the door was met with the widest, most beautiful and dazzling smile, a smile so entrancing that for a second he could only stay rooted to the spot, staring like a goofy teenager that couldn't quite believe his luck. She'd put on a little makeup and a sleeveless cream silk top and a skirt, just about visible behind the sports bag she was holding with two hands in front of her. She looked nice, he surmised finally, nothing over the top, but nice. More than nice, you fool, lovely. She looked lovely. Tell her.

Hank brushed past him, annoyed at the delay. Sara reached down to pet him, and still Grissom hadn't spoken. "You look lovely," he managed at last.

Sara looked up with surprise. A smile twitching at her lips, she pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head and gave him the once-over. "You don't look so bad yourself," she said, straight-faced, and met his gaze. "See?" she beamed, "I'm not early."

Grissom's face softened. A quick look left and right told him the coast was clear and he reached for her hand, gently pulling her to him while he took a step toward her. He raised his other hand, shy, hesitant, and then brushed it to her cheek. Should he kiss her?

"I'd have liked it better if you had been," he said, and kissed her on the mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The song I mention in the chapter is _I Go To The Barn_ _Because I Like The_ by Band of Horses from the album _Everything All the Time_, 2006.

Thank you, as always, for reading.

* * *

Hank let out a series of short, happy barks and Grissom pulled back from her, gently breaking off the kiss. He'd completely taken her by surprise, blindsiding her into breathlessness. She'd hoped when they had spoken on the phone earlier that day that he'd suggest they met at the park, but he hadn't. She'd wondered why, had worried his attitude would change now that they were back in Vegas, back to their routine, that he would somewhat close off from her and revert back to his usual masked and more reserved self.

But the man that had opened the door – her man – barefoot and bright-eyed, with his curls still wet and his shirt opened at the neck showing greying hairs she just wanted to thread her fingers through, was nothing like the man she'd known for seven years. This man, today, rendered her speechless and love-struck. She'd always known that what she felt for him was the real thing. But having it returned, having it staring so plainly back at her face, filled her with so much love, so much emotion that she felt overwhelmed to the point of tears.

Quickly she looked away, back down to Hank, unsurprisingly sniffing her bag, and bending down took a moment to return his love and compose herself. When she looked back up at Grissom, her emotion was once again concealed behind a bright smile. Grissom stepped back and she followed him into the condo, Hank close on their heels. The door closed behind them, shutting away the outside world.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, and gingerly raised her bag in his eye line. "I brought a change of clothes." Her shoulder lifted. "It's just that if I turn up for shift dressed like this, I'll never hear the end of it. And I'd rather, you know, that they didn't suspect, or ask questions. You don't mind, do you?"

His face softened with pleasure. "I don't mind at all." He opened his hands out and turned to the rest of the room. "Mi casa es su casa."

Sara's face lit up with a smile, and she looked around, opting to leave the bag near the door out of the way. There was more in the bag that just a change of clothes, just in case, but she kept that to herself. Hank was yelping as he followed the bag's movement with keen eyes. When Sara set the bag down, he gave it a good sniff then glanced up at her before moving his snout into the folds. She laughed.

"Hank, no," Grissom said firmly, stepping forward. He grabbed Hank by the collar and gently pulled him off the bag. The dog turned an aggrieved expression toward his master. "I'm sorry," he told Sara, "I thought he was getting better."

"It's okay," Sara said brightly, and then addressing Hank, "You know there's something for you in there, don't you?"

She bent down to open the bag and took out the bottle of Balcones Texas whisky she'd bought Grissom and the chew bone for Hank. Hank sat down and barked once, his eyes keenly flicking between Sara and his bone. Sara glanced at Grissom who nodded his head and then took the bone out of its protective packaging and gave it to Hank. Tail beating wildly in thanks, the dog quickly took it and made a run for it.

"I love your dog, Grissom," she said, laughing, and shook her head wistfully. "He's just so…uncomplicated. What you see is what you get." She picked up the bottle off the floor and pushed back up to her feet. Grissom was watching her, a strange look on his face. Her smile faded. "And this is for you."

His eyes lowered to the bottle, and taking it from her he read the label. His face registered a look of deep surprise. "Single malt," he said and looked up, "Thank you. That's…very generous."

Sara smiled. "I wasn't sure which brand you liked but…the clerk said this one was good."

"It is. Thank you." He paused, then took a step toward her and brushed his lips to her cheek before stepping back and looking down at the bottle again. He looked suitably moved, and Sara felt pleased. "Why don't you…huh… put some music on while I…" he motioned toward the kitchen area, "get things started?"

Sara smiled, nodded and glanced beyond his shoulder at the pots and pans and dishes she could see waiting on the stove and counter. "Anything I can help you with?"

"No, you're good." He paused. "I mean, huh, I got everything under control."

Sara nodded again and watched as he moved to the kitchen. Then she cast a look around, touched by the care he'd visibly taken to organise their evening. Everything looked spotless. He'd moved the table to a more central position and had set it for two. A single candle waited to be lit in the centre, a white rose alongside it. Again she felt her heart swell with emotion at the fact that he'd gone to all this trouble for her. Following his lead, Sara slipped off her sandals and padded bare feet to the wall-mounted B&O sound system.

"Do you always walk barefoot around the house?" she called over to him as she flicked through his CD collection on the shelf.

"No, not always," he replied, laughing, and she looked over at him, "It's just that man's best friend here took a shine to my house shoes." He glanced at her feet over the top of his glasses, her eyes lingering over the flower tattoo on her left ankle before they came back up to her face. "Maybe, you should…hide your shoes in the closet, just behind the door over there. You know, just in case."

Sara smiled. "It's okay. I brought another pair," her shoulder lifted, "you know, for work afterwards."

He gave a thoughtful nod. "Music?" he prompted with a lift of his brow and a nod at the stereo.

"Sure," she said, quickly turning back to the shelf.

Sara flicked through his collection – classical, opera, some seventies rock, folk, a wide and disparate selection it would seem – and unsure about what to put on turned the stereo on and just pressed play. Whatever he'd been listening to previously was fine by her. The first few gentle classical guitar riffs that played over the expensive sound system told her she'd made the right choice.

"I'd like to think I'm a mess you'd wear with pride…" made her raise her brow, and laughing to herself she picked up the empty CD case. Interesting choice of music, she mused. She'd never heard of the song or of the band, but it was growing on her already. What else would she learn about him tonight, she wondered?

"You like it?" he asked from the kitchen.

Sara looked up with a start and put down the CD. "I've never heard of them."

His shoulder lifted. "Neither had I until this afternoon." He smiled. "I'm still undecided."

"Well, I like it."

His smile widening he turned back to his cooking, and Sara joined him at the stove. Grissom was dressing two plates with shrimps still in their shells interspaced with lemon slices and fanned around small dish of cocktail sauce. Hank sat on his hind legs a little to the side, his nose twitching, his nostrils flaring as he watched. He'd either stashed the bone for later, or had eaten it already. And judging by the hopeful way he followed Grissom's every move Sara favoured the latter.

She stopped behind Grissom and gently, briefly, leaned her head on the back of his shoulder and closed her eyes. It felt so good to be able to do that, to be able to initiate a simple act of intimacy. Grissom stopped working and turning his face toward her smiled. He was so relaxed, so unguarded. He seemed so content and satisfied that Sara couldn't help feeling the same. Her hand lifted to his face and slowly she trailed her finger down to length of his cheek to his mouth, and his eyes closing he pressed his lips to it.

The breath caught in her throat at the unexpectedness of the gesture, at its gentleness and openness, and once again she felt the stirrings of her love for him deep in her stomach. He grabbed a dishcloth and wiped his hands on it, then fully turning his body round lifted them to her face for a slow and languorous kiss. His lips were fresh, tasting of lemon, and she found herself letting out a small gasp when hungrily he delved deeper into her mouth.

Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed herself against him and returned his kiss with fervour. Something hissed on the stove. Grissom startled, then grudgingly pulled away from her. His lips were red, a little swollen, his eyes longing behind his glasses, the dreamy smile on his face a mirror of hers. The hissing occurred again, and he whipped round, swiftly taking a pan of boiling water off the heat before mopping up the water that had boiled over with the dishcloth. Sara's heart was still beating double time.

"Maybe you should…go sit on the couch or something. Your presence here is kind of…distracting and I don't want to mess this up." He punctuated his words with a long sideways, teacher-like look.

Her shoulder lifted playfully. She tried to stifle the wide smile that wanted to escape but failed to. "Can I stay here and watch if I promise to be a good girl and not…distract you?"

He pulled a face, but didn't say she couldn't, so she found a clear spot on the worktop a little further away and sat herself down onto it, watching as he returned to preparing his appetisers.

"You don't mind getting messy, do you?" he asked suddenly. "I could always take the shells off now if you prefer—"

"No," she interrupted. "I don't mind getting messy at all."

His face softened. "We're having fish. I hope that's okay."

His lack of self-confidence all of a sudden was endearing but unnecessary. Whatever he'd cook she'd eat. No one had ever cooked for her before, not like that, not from scratch, as she knew he had. Her throat grew tight. "It's—It's more than okay."

He must have sensed her emotion, because he turned toward her suddenly, his smile fading, and regarded her softly. _No hiding anything from him_, she told herself as she held his gaze. _Either he takes it all, or he runs a mile, but no more pretending._

"No one's…ever gone to all this trouble for me before," she explained quietly, and wiped at the mist in her eyes, then gave him a smile.

"I like to cook," he said simply, returning the smile as he turned back to his cooking, and she felt relieved he wasn't making a big deal out of the situation. "It helps quieten my mind. I just don't get the time, and cooking for one's not much fun."

He glanced over at her, and she could tell by the twitching of his lips that he had more to say, but wasn't sure whether to share or not. He moved to the fridge and took out three as-yet-uncooked sea bass fillets which he began to coat in flour. She just watched him, happy to wait, and he didn't disappoint her.

"My mother taught me," he said at last, "said I couldn't leave home until she thought I was self-sufficient. I got one for Hank," he added in the same breath, going off on a tangent, and it took her a second to realise he was talking about the fish. "He won't leave us alone otherwise. Three bellies Hank here likes my cooking – as well as my slippers and everything else." Hank stood up at the mention of his name, and tail wagging covered the distance over to Grissom. "I hope you do too—like my cooking, I mean," he added hesitantly, giving her a long sideways glance.

Her gaze was solemn. "She did a good job," she mused a little wistfully. "Where does she live?"

"Who? My mother?" To her nod, he replied, "Here, in Vegas. She moved into a condo in Seven Hills a few years back."

"Nice."

Grissom's smile lingered as he nodded his head. He turned back to his stove, putting the pan of water back on the boil, a bowl of rice at the ready. "She—she wanted to be closer to me, I guess. But she's so busy, I hardly ever see her."

"_She'_s busy?"

He laughed. "Well, I guess it works both ways." His eyes widened suddenly. "Damn it, Sara, I almost forgot, can I get you something to drink? I got wine, beer, single malt…"

"A glass of wine would be nice. Just one, mind you..."

"I know," he said, fetching a bottle a white wine from the fridge. "You got work afterwards."

"Well, yes, I do," she said, beaming.

They took their wine and appetisers to the table, and sat down across from each other. Grissom gave a start then leapt to his feet again and she watched as he searched through a drawer before coming back with a box of matches and lighting the candle. He gave her a sheepish glance, and she smiled at him. She knew what he was thinking, that he was bungling things, but she didn't think their date could go any better.

He sat back down, and without ceremony began to eat. Sara had a moment's hesitation before she followed his cue. She picked up a shrimp with her fingers and began pulling at it to extract the meat. It was messy work but a lot of fun. Hank returned from wherever he'd disappeared to with the bone Sara had brought him, and lay down at their feet. "Did you boil the shrimp yourself?" she asked as she started on her third one.

"Yeah, sorry. They're a little tough."

"No, no." She brought the back of her hand to her mouth and wiped a little sauce. "I was going to say they're real tasty."

His face brightened at the compliment. "It's the spices I put in the water." He tapped his nose. "Family secret. I love seafood. We ate it a lot at home when I was a kid." He raised his dirty hands off his plate and sat back in his chair, his expression taking on a distant, slightly wistful air. "There's this restaurant out on Lake Mead that does a mean calamari. I'd love to take you there but…" his words trailed off and he shrugged.

"It's okay," she smiled, "I don't mind." And truly she didn't. She was having a lot more fun there than if they'd been on a date at a restaurant. No prying eyes _and_ they could be themselves.

Once they finished their starters, Grissom stood up, gathered their plates and took them to the sink. He washed his hands, then set about cooking their second course. Sara carried her glass of wine over and watched him work. He made it look so easy. Whether she watched him work there or at the lab or at crime scene she always found herself mesmerised by his calm, steady and careful approach, his efficiency.

He stirred the rice, tasted it and took it off the boil. Then he heated a skillet while another smaller pan of water reached boiling point at the back of the stove. He tipped a colander of freshly washed spinach leaves into it, turned the heat off and put a lid on the pan. The floured sea bass he put in the skillet to sear with sliced mushrooms. The kitchen was awash with sounds and smells that, combining with the little wine she'd drunk, made Sara heady.

Hank came up, dropped the red ball he was carrying in his mouth on the floor between them and lay down, ready to play. Sara watched the ball roll to her feet and smiled. Hank's tail was thumping against the vinyl floor as he waited for her to pick it up and toss it back. He'd accepted her into his life so easily, showed her so much welcomed affection without even being aware of it. Once again Sara choked up; she wanted to be part of this little family so much.

"Not indoors," Grissom said in a firm voice, and both Hank and Sara turned toward him with matching surprised expression. Their look said the same thing, "Spoilsport."

"I was talking to Hank," Grissom said, his expression sheepish.

Everything came together beautifully. Grissom plated up, filled Hank's bowl, and they sat down to eat again. At some point the music had stopped, but neither noticed, content as they were with each other's chatter. They laughed often, the rich timber of his voice resonating deep in her soul. Sara looked at her surroundings and still found it hard to believe, to accept that this was real, that it was her there, and not an imaginary self, having an intimate dinner with Grissom―Gil, she reminded herself.

She looked up, and again found him watching. He did that a lot, and she wondered at what he saw, at what he thought. His gaze was solemn, penetrating, slightly unnerving, and she wished she could read him better. He cracked a smile and lowered his eyes, and once again she relaxed.

"Did you want to…have dessert on the couch?" he suggested when they finished.

_Smooth_, she thought with a chuckle, and his lips twisted in a pout.

"You know what I mean."

Sara nodded her head, and silently began to gather plates and cutlery while he moved to the kitchen and took something out of the fridge. Sara looked for Hank but he'd disappeared, then joined Grissom's side and dumped her load on the counter next to the sink. He was cutting slices of cheesecake which he placed onto dessert plates. Afterwards he grated a little chocolate over the top, and Sara instinctively knew that this was no bought cheesecake.

They were letting their dinner settle, comfortable on the couch, their bare feet propped up on the coffee table, in each other's arms, when the phone rang. Grissom's hand stopped stroking her bare shoulder as he tensed under her but made no moves to take the call. Sara shifted a little on the couch, removed her hand from his leg. Her eyes moved to the wall clock. 7.35 pm, two and a half hours until the start of shift.

"You on call?" she asked on the third ring, and turned her face toward him.

"No." With a sigh, he tightened his hold on her. "Catherine is."

Sara settled herself again, leaned her head against his shoulder. The machine clicked on, the message short and to the point. After the beep there was a little static and then Catherine's remote voice filled the silence in the room.

Sara's heart sank; their romantic evening was over.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I think I got a little carried away and went over the original 'T' rating. Please read responsibly. ;-)

* * *

"Gil? Catherine here," Catherine's crackly voice said into the answering machine, "Dispatch called."

"You should get it," Sara said, turning on the couch toward him.

Grissom could feel the muscles of his right hand clench and unclench with tension. He knew Sara was right but he was loath to break up their intimate mood, especially if Catherine had the situation covered. They'd been having such a good time. He could hear the high-pitched sound of an engine going full pelt through the line, and he realised Catherine was in her car, talking hands-free. If she was away from Vegas when the call had come, then he'd have no choice but to step in.

"Female DB found on the I-15 out near Primm," Catherine was now saying, "our side of the border. I'm on route now."

Relief flooded through him as she spoke those last words, and he felt the tension leave him.

"Anyways, I just wanted to let you know you're up next, and that if I'm not back in time for the start of shift there's a stack of files on my desk that should be on yours―"

Sara was staring at him probingly and he sighed. Stretching over, she grabbed the phone off its cradle, cutting Catherine's voice off, and silently passed it to him

With a small, disgruntled twist of his lips, he took the phone from her and brought it to his ear. "Catherine," he said in a gruff voice, and cleared his throat. "I'm here." Sara made to get up but he put his hand on her leg, keeping her where she was. This wouldn't take long. He was determined; work wouldn't get in the way of their evening. "Sorry, I'm―was…busy."

Sara turned toward him, her brow cocked quizzically.

"Well, I am," he mouthed silently as Catherine droned on about getting to the crime scene before the weather turned, and a mischievous smile twitching on his lips stroked his hand down to Sara's knee, then back up and under her skirt. _See? I can multitask_, his smug expression said. Sara picked up his hand, gently placing it onto his own lap, and shook her head playfully. He pulled a face at her, showing his discontent, but kept his hand away.

"You're going to need backup?" he asked Catherine, refocusing when silence built on the line.

"Won't know till I get there, will I?" Catherine replied, her voice fading and then coming back on.

Sara picked up their empty plates and glasses and he watched with longing eyes as she carried them over to the kitchen.

"But from what highway patrol said looks like a body dump."

Grissom gave a thoughtful nod; if that was the case, she probably could process the scene alone and fairly quickly. Sara began loading the dishwasher and when she looked over at him he shook his head, telling her to stop, that it could wait. She just gave him a smile and carried on regardless. He sighed, then sat up on the couch, ready to end the call. "Just let me know if you do."

He was about to hang up when Catherine called his name.

He pushed to his feet. "Yes?"

"You're not alone, are you?"

A smile of pleasure formed on his lips. He glanced at Sara and wondered how Catherine could tell. Did one's tone of voice change when one was in love, he wondered? If so, he'd have to be very careful. He moved the receiver away from his face. "Cath, you're breaking up. Keep me informed, will you?"

"I will," she replied, laughing. "Enjoy what's left of your Sunday."

Sara glanced over, and he ended the call without giving Catherine a reply. He would enjoy what was left of his Sunday alright, but Catherine didn't need to know. After putting the phone away and blowing out the still burning candle, he joined Sara at the kitchen. She was standing stock still, dreamily watching the sink fill with water and dumping pans into it. She jumped when he snaked his arms around her waist from behind and gently pulled her away from the sink.

"Sara, leave all this please," he said, his lips tantalisingly close to her neck as he reached round her to turn off the tap.

"It's all right," she said, briefly leaning her head into him. "That was always the deal. You cook and I—" He pressed his lips to her neck and grazed her skin lightly, once, twice, felt her gasp before she paused and turned in his arms. The smile on her face was wide. "—wash up." Her hands rose to his shirt collar, her gaze to his face. "Do you need to go in?"

"No," he said in a whisper and stared back at her unwaveringly.

His answer gave her pause. Her eyes lowered to her hands, then climbed back up to his face. "Would you…be going in if I wasn't here?"

He debated how honest to be with her, but figured she already knew the answer to the question anyway. "Probably," he said, his tone solemn, "But not tonight. Tonight's about you and me, and we got two hours left of it."

Sara smiled, nodded her head and lowered her gaze again. He released his embrace and placed a finger under her chin, gently coaxing her face up until their eyes met. He hoped his feelings for her, his intention, were plain to see. He didn't want to rush things, rush her into anything, but he didn't want the evening to end like this either. He was ready to take their relationship to the next level and knew she was too. There was more in her bag than a change of clothes.

Silently he took her hand and led her away from the kitchen to the bedroom. The door was ajar, Hank sprawled across the bed, sleeping soundly. The bone Sara had gifted him was well gnawed at and lay discarded nearby. Grissom stopped at the threshold. His heart sinking, he turned toward Sara slightly behind him. Her lips were pinched, stifling her amusement, and he relaxed as he remembered what she'd said earlier. She didn't mind Hank being in the way, that in a matter of a few weeks she'd grown to love the pooch just as much as he had her.

Hank cracked one eye open, then the other, and regarded them with curiosity. His tail began to thump the bed and he lifted his head right up before turning onto his back, asking to be stroked. Sara made to go to him, but Grissom kept a firm hold of her hand. He had other plans. He and Sara had come to play, but not like Hank thought. They shared a look. Sara's shoulder lifted and Grissom knew he needed to act fast before Hank spoiled their moment.

He gave a short, shrill whistle, then jerked his head at the door. Thinking it time for walkies, Hank scrambled onto his front before unsteadily pushing up to his paws and jumping off the bed, making a dash for the door. Grissom reached across Sara and pushed the door shut behind him. The bed was all crumpled, but knowing it was only a matter of a very short time until it got crumpled even more Grissom refrained from straightening it. At least this time, Hank hadn't burrowed inside the covers as he sometimes did. In his haste he'd left his bone behind, and Grissom stretched to pick it up before discreetly tossing it to the floor out of the way.

"That was a little mean," Sara said, but her smile and tone belied her words.

"I'll make it up to him."

Grissom gave her hand a little tug so she had no choice but to close the distance to him. Her smile faded as she read his intention, and she swallowed. His hands lifted to her face, and he watched her for a long moment before bringing his lips to hers in a soft, tentative kiss. As they deepened the kiss, Sara's hands slipped under his shirt and up over his stomach, stroking over his chest, his back while she pressed herself to him. Hank's whining at being duped barely registered in his subconscious.

Grissom let go of her face and pulled back from her. Both were breathing hard, their gasps and pants audible, yearning for more. His eyes swept over her face, down her throat to her neck and shoulders, his love and desire for her unconcealed. He opened his mouth and licked his lips, dry all of a sudden. Sara took a small step back from him and in one single movement whipped her top off over her head, revealing skin as pale and soft and perfect as silk.

The breath caught in his throat. He raised his hands to her, then dropped them back to his sides, content to watch for now. Her breasts were heaving under her cream lacy bra, asking to be freed. He swallowed, but didn't move to free them. Cream lace, how could she know, he wondered? When she lifted her hands to unclasp her bra, he reached out and stopped her.

Their gazes met, the command in his silent, soft and begging. _Let me do it._ _Please._

Her arms returned to her sides, and she stood there in all her beauty. She wasn't shy, and he liked that about her. Wordlessly he stepped around her and sat down at the edge of the bed. She made to turn, but he put his hands on her waist keeping her with her back to him. He closed his eyes and took a deep, fraught breath, then brought his lips to the small of her back, grazing and brushing and licking. Her back arched away from him as she took in a breath. God, he wanted to lick every inch of her skin. Without pausing he pulled at the buttons of his jeans, freeing his bulging erection.

He heard a gasp, a stifled moan, his, hers, he couldn't tell. Goosebumps formed on her skin and she repressed a shiver. Knowing she was turned on, knowing he had that power over her meant everything to him. His hands slipped under her skirt from below the hemline, gently gliding up and down against her bare legs, once, twice, in turn gentle and then not so, and then around the front and down along her inner thigh. His lips never stopped their onslaught on her senses. He felt her tremble under his touch; her legs parted slightly, granting him access.

She made to turn again, but he kept her in place and allowed his hand one featherlike skim over the lace of her panties. Her breaths were coming in small, aroused pants. His mouth opened against her skin, his eyes drifted shut at the wave of pleasure that rushed through him. She was warm and ready, as he was. But he had time. They had time, all the time in the world, and he would savour every second of their first time together, hoped she would too.

Gently he lowered the zipper on her skirt and let the garment fall down to her ankles. Only then did he turn her around. Her eyes lowered to his open pants before they came back up to his face, dark and full of unrestrained desire. Her breathing was slow now, deliberately so, as if she could barely get enough air in. She knelt down on the floor before him and slowly began undoing the buttons on his shirt. One hand slipped underneath, her touch searing into his skin.

His pulse was racing. His eyes clenched shut and he swallowed, hard, and willed himself more self-control than he did every time he dreamed she was touching him. His shirt came off, and she pushed at his chest until he was lying down. His hands lifted to her, but she took them and brought them up over his head. He didn't resist, willingly kept them there when she bent over him and caressed her mouth to his chest, around his nipples, trailing a path with her lips, her tongue up to his neck and mouth, and back down. The muscles in his stomach tightened and he writhed and squirmed under her, raising his pelvis, seeking more of her, all of her.

When she slipped her hand in the opening of his pants and stroked him he was so hard he thought he was going to come there and then. He tried to sit up to slow her down, and when that failed took her face in his hands, forcefully pulling her off him, to him for a breathless kiss. He couldn't get enough of her, as it would seem she him. Sara shifted over him, straddling him, and pressed herself to him. Their kissing grew frantic, passionate, almost desperate.

His hands pulled at her bra straps, his fingers sliding underneath the cups, stroking and teasing her breasts. Sara pulled back from him and sat up, knees on either side of his legs, to remove her bra. Her nipples were taut, dark, inviting. He sat up, and brought his mouth to the first one, hungrily sucking while arching up Sara wrapped her arms around him.

When he couldn't take any more, he turned them around so Sara was lying on the bed. She made eye contact, didn't once flinch, and raised her arms above her head, crossing them at the wrists. He licked at his lips, exhaled a fraught breath as he tried to hold back his consuming desire. He needed to slow them down. Her panties came off, then his jeans and boxers. He couldn't take his eyes - or hands - off her.

More kissing and caressing ensured before Grissom slipped his hand under the left pillow, his pillow, and found the condom he'd stashed there. Sara's brow arched wryly, and his shoulder lifted acknowledging that yes, this was where he'd hoped their evening would take them. Could she blame him? Putting the condom on was a fumble, but a lot of fun when she joined in. Afterwards as he pinned her hands above her head and gazes locked made slow, careful love to her he made himself a promise.

He knew it would be hard, and that at times he would be tested, but he promised himself to change his priorities in life and put Sara ahead of his work and ahead of himself too. Her mere presence lit his day and made his life worthwhile. He hoped he never forgot it. He loved her, he had no doubts about that, but it would take him a little longer to be able to give voice to his feelings.

When much later they lay in bed, sated and happy, very happy, Sara was moulded to him with her head on his shoulder and her arm draped across his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so close, felt so close to anyone. He loved the feel of her weight against him, the warmth of her breath on his chest. Her breathing was slow, regular, and briefly he wondered whether she'd dozed off. His eyes drifted to the bedside clock; they still had a little time until they'd need to head to the lab. He pressed his lips to the top of her head in a soundless kiss, and she wiggled herself closer to him, right into his side.

"What made you choose cream lace?" he asked.

His question gave her pause. She turned her face up toward him. "You didn't like it?"

He smiled. "I didn't say that."

She pulled a face, shrugged her shoulder. "It matched my top. Why?" she asked, suspicious, when he chuckled to himself.

It was his turn to shrug, to play it cool as yet again he pondered how much to share. "It's just that…I have a thing, you know, for cream lace. I find black, and red for that matter, too predictable. Cream is…a nice surprise."

Sara's face registered surprise, and he felt pleased. "But just so you know, for accuracy's sake," she said, nestling her head back in the nook of his shoulder, "the panty set isn't cream. It's…ivory."

A smile curling his lip, he glanced at the bedside clock. Oh, how he wished they could stay like this all night long. "Sara, would you have breakfast with me tomorrow?"

Sara pushed up on her elbow and looked over at him, a wide smile on her face. The bed sheet lowered to her waist, and his eyes followed its descent with greed. She was so beautiful, such a turn on. He could never tire of watching her. He'd been such a fool to deny himself this pleasure, deny himself her love for so long.

"So, huh…breakfast?" he prompted, forcing his eyes back to her face.

"Breakfast would be great." She lowered her mouth to his chest and deposited the softest of kiss there. His eyes closed, and feeling himself stir he swallowed back a surge of desire. "The park, after shift?"

"I thought maybe we could…come back here," he whispered, barely choking out the words.

"Here?" she asked, her lips skimming his clavicle.

She was playing with him, and he was game. His rejoinder died on his lips. He shifted under her onto his side, cutting her teasing short, and when she looked up lifted one hand to her face to push back a little hair that had fallen into her eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, their eyes soft and loving, before their lips met for a long and leisurely kiss. He knew they didn't have time for _that – _not so soon anyway_ – _but they still had a little time. He moved on top of her, pulled the bed sheet over them and gently nudged his right leg between hers. They parted willingly.

Unbeknown to either of them, the door opened a crack. Hank dropped his forepaws from the handle to the ground, used his muzzle to push the door wider and slipped inside the bedroom. He could hear noises coming from under the sheet, but he didn't pay much attention to them. He was on a mission: to retrieve his much-loved bone. He looked where he'd left it on the bed and when he couldn't see it gave a sniff around the room, finally locating it under a pile of clothes. Tail wagging joyfully at his find, Hank lay down on top of the clothes and clamping the bone between his forepaws licked it clean.

The noises turned to moans, happy moans and groans, his and hers, mostly hers though, growing in intensity just like the ones he'd heard a while back when he'd been waiting not-so-patiently for the door to open. It never did. They were distracting, those noises, keeping him from concentrating on his bone. He thought about leaving – he could always finish the washing up he'd started, that cheesecake was almost as delicious as his bone – but he had a little score to settle. That stunt his master had pulled earlier was mean, especially when he'd kept out of the way and behaved himself so beautifully all evening.

So instead of leaving, he jumped onto the end of the bed, circled the spot on the edge a few times and then curled himself up with his bone in the warm folds of the crumpled bedcover. Something kicked his side, but only softly, and he didn't budge. This time he'd stand his ground. The noises stopped. He heard hushed voices coming from below the sheet and then quiet laughter. Maybe his cover was blown, but so what. A powerful sense of belonging filled him, and he closed his eyes. The mattress dipped; the sheet was pulled back.

"Hank!"

His ears twitched at the call of his name, but again he didn't budge. He'd stand his ground, turn a deaf ear. Sara laughed. Oh, how he loved her laugh. He hoped this was the first of many times she came to stay. She was kind and loving, and she brought him gifts.

But more importantly, she made both him and his master very happy.

* * *

The end.


End file.
